


A Retainer's Resolve

by stopmopingstarthoping



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Devotion, Embedded Images, Episode Ignis Verse 2, Gen, Prophecy, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 07:56:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19848877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/stopmopingstarthoping
Summary: Ten years is a long time to wait for your King's return. Ignis scours Eos to figure out how to save him, haunted by the ghosts of better times.





	A Retainer's Resolve

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Sagefire zine](https://twitter.com/SagefireZine) dedicated to Ignis, and so beautifully illustrated by [Ravy_Nevermore](https://twitter.com/Ravy_Nevermore/status/1150248315893755904/photo/2). I was so happy to be part of this project!

Ignis stood outside the tomb watching the flashlight at his lapel trace a pale finger over decaying trees. He remembered when the four of them had had to wait until nightfall for these places to open, to reveal the secrets and dangers within. A tiny, rueful puff of air left his nose. Awaiting entry was no longer an issue. Not in this endless night. He strode forward—alone, this time—to see what he could find. His steps were sure and unwavering, pulled forward by stubbornness and defiance. 

The tomb was dusty, as it had been back when they first visited. This time, though, it was crawling with daemons, more powerful and more feral than the enemies they’d encountered here before.

Ignis eyed an arachne oozing scourge and hissing at him with a daemonic echo to its voice, and only swiped at it disdainfully with a polearm, irritated by its presence. He remembered the way the four of them, new to combat outside the sparring ring, had crouched together, sweeping eyes over every corner, startling in response to every movement from the shadows, feeling fear creep cold and uncertain up their chests. 

This time around, Ignis was confident enough to press the offensive even while alone. He switched to daggers, slicing through howling goblins with an electric hiss. He felt his body work its way through now long-practiced motions, and he thought of learning to fight as children with Gladio and Noct. Gladio had always let out a fierce yell to ward off fear, running and waving his arms as if to cow his own emotions into submission. Both Ignis and Noctis had somewhat lower-key responses, but over the years each had learned to make good use of a strong battle cry of their own. He felt it rip from his chest even now, alone, no comrades to cheer, no one to rally.

No one to offer a healing touch when Ignis himself might have needed one. These minor enemies didn’t warrant such assistance, but he was still getting used to fighting alone. He refused to bring anyone else along on these wild stints looking for…

Ignis swiped a dagger through a goblin and pulled his sleeve across his dampening forehead. He couldn’t have put words to what he was looking for, if pressed. He simply followed clue to clue, driven by the refusal to give up on Noctis, the refusal to accept the idea of his being sentenced.

His breath caught as a scene washed in blue-gray tones stole his vision: the sight of Noctis, as he’d looked when they first came to this place, looking up at phantom crystalline weapons circling him in a regal formation. His shock of surprise and pain when the first one drove into his chest, followed by the look of pride and determination as Noct had closed his fingers into a fist. The visions Ignis had been—“given” seemed like too kind a word—had never stopped. But of late, they’d included scenes from the past. In particular, scenes from Noctis’ past.

The vision superimposed over another in his mind, the one that haunted Ignis, the one that drove him from tomb to tomb, had him scraping and digging and searching for a different answer. Noctis, but older. More glowing weapons, but real. Noctis’ hand, grasping a sword hilt and faltering, failing. 

The swell of azure light faded in a single bright point, leaving a pulsing ache behind his eyes. Ignis was cold again, and the fear he felt had nothing to do with the daemons around him. 

Feral bodies dispatched in a swirl of daggers and cold precision, Ignis caught his breath and swept his small flashlight over the carved stone surfaces of the tomb, looking for something—anything. He wished he knew what he was looking for.

As his eyes swept over the carved figures guarding the tomb and the patterns engraved into the walls, Ignis felt helpless. Why had he come here? Who was he, compared to hundreds of years of Lucis’ rulers? Compared to the Astrals themselves?

He exhaled as the last of the daemons wisped away in dark clouds of miasma. He’d been right not to involve the others in this. It was hubris, desperation, stupidity. His steps barely sounded as he turned and left, his head bent low.

Ignis stopped at the statue outside. He could see from here that it was a statue of the Founder King; he could even read the few words inscribed on the base in his flashlight’s glow with usual clarity. A memory—a real memory, full of warmth and color—reminded him of Noctis’ determination and the strident tones in his voice as he’d commanded that the magic of the Crystal reverse the hand that fate had dealt Ignis. 

He regarded the statue—Noct’s ancestor, apparently—for a long moment. Behind its sharp corners and carved edges, the swell of the hillside was soft and worn. Ignis realized, not for the first time, that an ancient figure sat broken and buried in the earth. 

Hours later, after Ignis had worked his way around to where the marble giant lay, he pondered its face. It was benevolent, but melancholy. Its features were— 

They were familiar, and Ignis’ eyebrows shot up as he realized who it looked like. It couldn't be. He blinked, and looked again. He fumbled through old hastily-drawn sketches in his notebook. No, it wasn't his imagination. The similarity was striking, and too much to be coincidence. _An Oracle?_

Though physically weary, Ignis’ thoughts raced. He must go back, then. Back to the first time they'd met him. He barely noticed the solitary nature of his minimal camp, and his thoughts continued to flicker over the past as he slipped into a light sleep. 

* * *

Normally, Ignis would have jogged in a slow lope along the long stretch of dock between the shore and the main building, but the sanded blond boards had begun to rot and wear through in places, so he walked carefully, keeping a close watch on his feet. The sad flap of what was left of a green tie, wrapped around a support beam, caught his eye as he walked.

Daemonic sludge lingered here and there, and he squatted down to get a closer look. As usual, a small shot of magic, be it flame or ice or lightning bolt, simply dispersed the odd substance, but it still crawled and oozed where it lay. Ignis thought for a moment, then directed a green spark of healing after the last small bolt. The black drops hissed and smoked—and shrank. Or so he thought. Had he imagined it? 

Ignis stayed on the dock for hours, sending one shimmering beam of magic after another, until he was exhausted and stiff from crouching for so long. 

* * *

Caem had been the calm before the storm, Ignis remembered, but today the waves tossed violently, in contrast to the still waters that had greeted them when Iris had said her cheerful goodbye and the sun had shone as though it would never stop. 

Inside, the lighthouse was cobwebbed and a little damp. The sea air pervaded, but something more foul as well. Ignis wondered if there was any part of their world not invaded by the scourge, the daemons overrunning everything. This place, like Galdin, seemed empty, but his guard remained up.

Ignis rummaged through the few supplies and scattered items left inside, growing increasingly frustrated. His fist clenched at seeing the old photograph of Regis and the others. Why was Ignis left alone to search for answers? Why had they all seemed so willing to lay down the life of an innocent prince—someone who never deserved anything but a calm fishing hole and a sunny day?

Ignis breathed harder, and felt himself flush. He stormed to the basement, flinging items out of the way with growing fervor. Finally, his gaze landed on a book. The Cosmogony. His eyes narrowed, as the Astrals were far from beloved in his eyes at this point, but he picked it up anyway. 

As he read, he sat, and turned the pages faster and faster. He studied the same passage three times. _In the Light of the Gods, Sword-Sworn at his Side, 'Gainst the Dark the King's Battle is fought._

Noctis wasn’t meant to do this alone.

Ignis nodded, tucked the book into his jacket, and left the photograph sitting on the table. 

* * *

Piloting the Royal Vessel by himself, Ignis felt the wind whip through his hair like one of the pirates from the books Gladio had read to Ignis and Noctis as children, hidden under the covers long after they were supposed to be asleep. He squared his shoulders, steadied his stance, and fixed his gaze on the horizon. He knew what he looked toward, though he couldn’t yet see it, and his stomach clenched at the memory.

Altissia.

The shape of the word in his mind drew memories almost immediately: sharp, bright, painful memories like the feel of stressing a freshly-healed cut. He dismissed them, and made his way forward. He thought intentionally of Noctis then, as the boat bumped gently into an abandoned, rotting dock. He focused his thoughts again on the soothing, cooling power that Noct had somehow channeled, the surprise as colors and shapes had shifted back into his vision. He trained his mind toward that victory, however tiny and insignificant. They were _not_ sentenced, not doomed. Small victories would wage the larger war. The simple lesson, taught to him first by Clarus of all people, was a comfort. Ignis breathed deeply and tied the boat up. No waiting for a gondola, this trip.

As he paddled alone through the deserted canals, he tried to clear his mind, but every corner, every empty shop, carried a memory. This was where Prompto had first eaten caviar; that was where Gladio had made his consistently futile attempts to place winning bets in the arena. The lively scenes tumbled over one another in Ignis’ mind, in contrast to today’s silence that made even the slight splash of the paddle’s dip into the water sound loud. 

He arrived sooner than he thought he would.

Ignis’ boots echoed on the stone surface, and his steps grew slower and heavier as he approached the end of the altar. He remembered the feel of his wet shirt stuck to his skin, the roaring panic as he’d seen Noct, and searing breaths scorching his lungs as weird magic surged around and through his body. He remembered the terror that whatever price Ignis would be willing to pay wouldn’t be enough. 

_Why here?_ Ignis had been following the same patchwork, cobbled-together pattern of clues since the world went dark, and he had no option but to trust himself. He searched, and thought about what particular horseshoe nail he might find—not to save his kingdom, but his King.

This place seeped with even more memories, though, and as he swept light across the altar, it flickered blue, and he remembered—did he ever really forget?—the awful visions he’d first seen here that had stalked close behind him ever since. Visions of what he’d first hoped was a twisted, impossible future, but what he’d come to learn was a vicious prophecy damning an undeserving soul.

As he thought, and remembered, and fought not to remember too much, trying to surface amidst the swirling emotions attempting to drown him, Ignis realized that those blue-tinged visions had come from the Oracle herself. Which meant she had known, too. 

_She had known_. 

Oddly unassailed by daemons here, Ignis sat heavily on the concrete. Like a physical weight, the knowledge hit his chest: Lunafreya had known, had walked to her own death, had felt powerless to keep from walking Noctis to his. Tears hit the mottled-gray stones, wetting them in dark spots, like the circles that had burned away his vision as he fought destiny in Zegnautus Keep. A question sounded in his thoughts as he pondered Luna’s final moments. 

_Who, after all, would be stupid enough to defy the gods?_

Who, indeed? Ignis looked down at his scarred hand. 

Just past his fingertips, his flashlight caught a glint of something small amid the rubble. Back to his feet in an instant, Ignis pulled it out from under a pile of rocks: a dog tag. It was bent and broken, but enough remained for Ignis to make out a few words, and the floral symbol on the back confirmed it. He picked it up, remembering the transparent, ghostly sylleblossom petals that had accompanied Noctis' surge of power as he’d undone most of what the Ring had wrought. Help had come from the Oracle, even after her passing. Ignis’ fingers curled around the scrap of metal in his hand as he turned to leave.

Back turned to the waves, Ignis stood a moment, in recognition of all that had happened here, and said an unspoken farewell to this place. There would be no reason to return. He sent a silent thanks to Luna, or her messenger companion, or whatever spirit of benevolence it was that had seemed to bless his defiance and foolishness, both that fateful day in the keep and today.

* * *

Ignis pulled the old motorbike into position at the side of the road and dismounted, prepared to walk the short distance through Steyliff Grove to the tomb alone. He was mostly alone these days, and he told himself it didn’t bother him, but it did. When they’d been here before, Gladio had been the one to strike out alone, and they’d all missed him and worried for him. Their concern seemed youthful and shallow compared to the dangers that lurked in this forever night, but Ignis still thought about his friends daily. 

He missed their steps beside him as he made his way to the glowing stone door. Surprised, as always, at his being allowed entrance without Noctis, Ignis jogged through the halls of the ancient place, dispatching its resident daemons with precision and a bit of impatience. 

Once through to the largest room, he just stood for a while, gazing up at the distorted view through the water—suspended, somehow. Ignis supposed by magic.

Was there anything to be found here? He wasn't sure, but the pull of this place was undeniable. Whether it spurred a clue or not, he had a feeling that he hadn't been wrong to visit. 

The monolith. Ignis remembered the tale of the old Oracle King from its surface. His gloved fingers traced over the words again, but one phrase in particular stood out to him. 

_Her staff in hand, I shall become the Oracle in her stead._

Both royal and Oracle magic had been necessary once. Perhaps they would be again.

* * *

Ignis stared at Noctis’ outline, lit from behind by the truck’s headlights, as he walked toward them. Disbelief mingled with joy roared in his mind as he scrambled to take in all the details. Older, yes, and—weightier, somehow. Noctis carried a dignity tinged with sadness, and it was that melancholy that made Ignis spring to action. He started talking at the same moment as the others—words of greeting, of emotion, broken sounds between laughter and joy. They spilled out of all of them before the conversation lulled to being reasonably understood. The tangle of limbs as they all embraced was messy and unorderly, full of wonder and more than a few tears, before they pulled apart to go inside.

“When I say I never doubted you, I mean it.” His scarred face tipped down and to the side in emphasis, a mannerism grown more pronounced since the long night began but now, as always, a measure of emotion. This unexpected meeting in Hammerhead was overwhelming, especially when Prompto insisted on chattering all about Ignis’ frantic searches, tossing royal tombs like cheap motels for clues and concocting wilder and wilder theories. 

Noctis just looked at him with the trust he'd always had in those deep azure eyes, but tinged this time with an expression that accepted the inevitable, and Ignis’ chest hurt with defiance. 

“You didn't have to, Iggy. I'm ready.”

 _No._ The words made him want to crumble, but Ignis swept himself up tall. “Even in my darkest moments, when I feared you had truly been taken from us, I never doubted your resolve, your devotion. If these years I have spent are but a faint echo of that, I am proud indeed.”

“The Crystal is still here. As is the line of the Oracle.” Ignis pulled Noctis into a booth, nattering about plasmodium and Glaives of Light and feverishly flipping through his notebook. There wasn't _time_ —he felt rushed and desperate, but it was so important to make Noctis understand. Ignis fought against the resigned set of Noctis’ jaw and the acceptance set into his shoulders harder than he'd battled any enemy yet. 

Hours later—the time had slipped by like minutes, but with the wisdom of days, of decades—Noctis looked up. There were tears in his eyes, and the smallest tremor in his hand as he laid it over Ignis’, over the worn notebook that had been dragged all over Eos with him. 

“Will this work?”

Ignis had no choice then, but to believe it would. To believe in himself, and in what he'd found—in the Oracle's magic, and in Noctis himself. 

It had been what saved them before. 

He looked up slowly, and in an echo of the last moment they'd spent together before the Crystal had stolen Noctis, had aged him, Ignis simply nodded. It was stern, and filled with the assurance he'd built over decades by Noctis’ side. 

The smile of astonished joy that crept over Noct’s face would have been worth ten more years of searching all by itself. 

**Author's Note:**

> So much gratitude to Ravy and [aliatori ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori/profile)for their assistance in getting this to the finish line! <3 
> 
> Image description 1: Ignis looks down at a copy of the Cosmogony, brow furrowed.
> 
> Image description 2: An older Noctis and Ignis sit in a booth at the Hammerhead diner, and Noctis reaches across the table to touch Ignis' hand.
> 
> Kudos and comments are so appreciated. Thank you for reading! You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Stopmopingstart).


End file.
